


Highway to the danger zone

by vertigo



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alfred is tired, Alternate Universe, Developing Relationship, Dick won't share his ice cream, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Jason is a life savior, M/M, Monster® worshipping, Tim is a horrible driver
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-08-27 18:13:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8411503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vertigo/pseuds/vertigo
Summary: Over the orange mass of fluff, Gotham’s skyline mocked him with its ugly buildings and the ever present smog hovering, a stark contrast against the starry sky from the highway where he was currently taking a nap. It was a truly cinematic view with the hideous gargoyles and pompous buildings designed by Cyrus Pinkney clashing against the sharp angles of new buildings and their colossal antennas, and a background of stars slowly morphing into a cloud of smoke. It was probably raining down there.





	1. Of Monster® And Men

**Author's Note:**

> Things I should be doing:
> 
> \- Writing my thesis
> 
> Things I am doing:
> 
> \- This  
> \- Singing along to Kenny Loggins

Tim flopped against the airbag—if he was being true to himself, that warm thing was the most comfortable pillow he’s ever laid his head on. Well, his concept of comfort might be a _little_ skewered, since it was a long time from the last comfortable sleep he had against a pillow. Over the orange mass of fluff, Gotham’s skyline mocked him with its ugly buildings and the ever present smog hovering, a stark contrast against the starry sky from the highway where he was currently taking a nap. It was a truly cinematic view with the hideous gargoyles and pompous buildings designed by Cyrus Pinkney clashing against the sharp angles of new buildings and their colossal antennas, and a background of stars slowly morphing into a cloud of smoke.

 

It was probably raining down there.

 

Fuck Gotham and its rain, he just crashed his favorite car while taking a nap. It was harmless right? He was just going to take a twelve minute nap in the straight road, dream a little bit about dolphins or punching Damian and next thing he knew, the airbag was pressing against his face and Sheila (yes, this particular red Audi was called Sheila in honor of his favorite waitress in the WE cafeteria) was half crashed against a tree. It worked last week in Germany with Maribel, but why, why couldn’t it work in Gotham?

 

Tim sighed, falling to his side, the shift gear digging painfully against his ribs, and pushed a few empty Monster cans out of his way until he found one that was full and still a little cold inside the cooler in his passenger side. Tim mused for a while the possibility of asking the Nobel council (was it a council?) to award the Monster creators a Nobel.

 

Now he would have to call Bruce at…Two fifteen in the morning, he scrunched his nose… and tell him he wasn’t going to make it. And probably find someone to take care of Sheila. He needed all the energy that only Monster® could provide him, since in his current sleep-deprived state, he lacked the guts to do so. “Sheila, call Alfred.” Tim heard the automatic response while nursing the sugary beverage, his brain rolling at full speed to find a lie believable enough to fool the old butler. Probably he was going to kill him over calling the manor at the dead of the night— but this time, luck was on his side as he heard the monotone of an answering machine picking up the call. “Hey Alf, I decided to sleep in a motel tonight. We can’t afford having any accidents right? So... I’m going right to the WE, can you pick a suit for me? Send Bruce my apologies, I’ll be there by 3 pm to work on our deal with the Japanese investors. Anyways good night.”

 

He pressed the ‘end’ button flashing on the dashboard with a tired finger and flopped back against the orange airbag. Now he needed someone to take care of poor Sheila. With another gulp of that green monstrosity that dubbed as his lifeline, he turned his head to the side, facing a horrible blue billboard with red letters flashing in front of him.

 

**PROBLEMS WITH YOUR CAR?**

**REN-A-BAT**

**(555) R-E-D - A-R-S-E**

**THE BEST IN THE AREA!**

**CALL NOW!**

The phone number was printed in dark blue against a chubby red bat, and beside the fat nocturnal creature, stood the weirdest pair he’s ever had to face: one of them looked like your typical hillbilly ginger, wearing a ridiculous trucker hat and flannel shirt, freckled arms crossed and a million-dollar smile. Beside him, stood a dude that looked like he had a skunk crawled over him and died on the top of his head—scratch that, the guy _looked_ like an extra disgruntled skunk who probably just wanted to murder the Wayne heir in his sleep with a kris then go back to messing with the next door neighbor’s garbage can because there was a delicious half-eaten chocolate donut lying there.

 

He groaned, hesitantly dialing the ridiculous number while trying to burn a hole in the awful ad with his eyes. Those guys needed to work on their publicity, or maybe not. It was probably for the best, since they were probably a couple of rednecks that drank cheap beer under a confederate flag. “Jason Todd, how can I help you?”

 

“…My name is Timothy Wa—Drake and I crashed my car against a tree.”

 

“Dude, are you okay? Should I call 911?”

 

Tim groaned again, closing his eyes for a second and enjoying the warmth from the airbag. “No, I’m okay, but Sheila’s not.”

 

“WHY THE FUCK AREN’T YOU CALLING THE PARAMEDICS?”

 

If the Wayne heir had the mental coordination to do so, he would have pulled the phone away from his ear, but two weeks of three hour naps were finally getting to him, and now, thanks to that hillbilly confederate-cheap-beer-loving mechanic, he might have a split eardrum. “…Sheila is my car. I’m near that ugly billboard with your number and the obese bat.”

 

“…Shit I told Roy that thing was ugly. Listen, Mr. Drake, I’ll be there in five minutes, are you sure you’re okay?” Tim groaned, finishing his can of monster and snuggling against the airbag (best.pillow.ever.) and mumbling something incomprehensible, it was easier to slip into Morpheus’ arms when you’re surrounded by silence, and Jason’s voice had a nice husky tone, as if he had just woke up or maybe smoked too many cigarettes while fighting his own sleep. “Come again?”

 

“Red Audi R8. Tell Roy that the bat needs a diet. And that you guys look like those douchebags that throw tantrums in Discovery Turbo… No… Scratch that… You guys look more like Duck Dynasty had an illegal child with Monster Garage. And now that child shoots beer cans while screaming about making America great again and will probably vote for Trump because Hillary is a reptilian that wants all the women to abort their fetuses so she can bathe on their blood and be young forever. And that child also believes that Obama is a terrorist. And is a Lex Luthor supporter. ”

 

“….I’m going to kill Roy.”

 

“You do that.”

 

Tim closed his heavy eyelids, he was going to nap for another five minutes before either Tom Sawyer or skunk dude arrived to save his sorry ass. And that was enough to give him the energy back for the young heir to wait until Sheila was alright again to hit the road and finally get to Gotham—the Japanese investors were an awful bunch, smart like foxes and knew where to find any loose thread in their projects and he needed to be at least 30% himself so he could fight them to death over the new design of the clean energy generator without resorting to any actual deaths.

 

He mumbled a bit more, thinking about the sharp steel  that could use the potential of the seas to fuel Tokyo during the nights and not harm the environment—Mr. Curry asked specifically for a project that wouldn’t impact the ecosystem, and that he could deliver, thanks to Lucius knowledge and his brain… Well, Tim could also thank the brat for once in his life using his brain and helping the project to be cost-effective. All-in-all, the new energy source was a dream come true—beautiful, smart, eco-friendly, and when the time ran out for the machine, it would work like a sunken ship, giving the native fauna and flora a place to grow. The boy was dreaming of elegant steel and gentle waves, how the pressure would push them and create the clean energy they so desperately needed. Among the structure, he could visualize the clownfishes swimming playfully around yellow anemone and the algae swaying. There was also a huge jellyfish, drifting around like the world was its playground and the mighty great white shark, bumping against steel and bumping, bumping, bumping, bumping…

 

“Mr. Drake?”

 

Tim woke up with a jump, almost punching the reinforced glass of his window because of the mysterious voice that kept calling him and the insistent rapping against the glass. “Shit.” He covered his eyes, someone was flashing a light over his face and blinding him. “I’m okay, I’m alright.” He squinted, noticing a distinct lack of red hair and trucker hat—but there was a mop of curly black hair with a white lock falling over azure eyes. _Skunk dude_. He thought before raising his head and finding the motor skills to get out of the car. “Mr. Todd, right?” The guy just nodded, watching him stumble on the ground before grabbing Sheila’s door.

 

“Are you drunk Mr. Drake?” Tim shook his head in a negative, still finding some footing on the soft grass and finally taking a good look at Sheila. It wasn’t that bad, probably some broken headlights and the metal a bit creased over the impact, it could have been a lot worse than that.

 

“No, I just fell asleep. I swear I did it on Autobahn last week and nothing happened!” The guy looked at him as if he was insane—and maybe he was, but over the years working under Bruce Wayne’s wing he became a sort of specialist in sleeping behind a wheel. He just had to find a straight part of the road, calculate for how long he could nap and force his body in a position where his foot would be steady and arms locked in the steering wheel. It never failed until that night. “What? It happens!”

 

Mr. Todd scoffed, apparently done with him and moving to the tow truck to take Sheila. “Well it _shouldn’t_ happen Mr. Drake. You could have killed yourself, or worse you could have killed somebody else.” Tim shrunk on himself, the thought of causing an accident crossed his mind once or twice but that never happened, and now looking at Sheila he could only thank some disembodied entity for the fact that no one but himself was hurt. Mr. Todd gave him a small pat on his back, pushing the boy to the passenger side of the truck gently. “…You really fell asleep on the Autobahn?”

 

He laughed a little, getting himself comfortable on the seat and looking at pristine clean dashboard in front of him. “Yeah… I was alone in the road and I thought, well, I can do that, the Porsche is safe enough.” Beside him, Mr. Todd chocked on his own saliva, his steel blue eyes going comically huge while taking in Tim’s form. He was probably the last person people would think that would fall asleep behind the wheel, with his dark blue suit and good boy demeanor that helped him making his way out of traffic tickets way too many times. “…What?”

 

“You know that… Virtually any car made in Germany electronically limits the speed…  Except Porsches. Fuck kid, you’re insane.” Tim blushed, trying not to appear too oblivious of his little slip and favored looking at the small Hawaiian hula doll dancing on the dashboard. The little thing was precious, her big cartoonish head bobbing and the green skirt moving when the truck moved—he took in the typical pine scent inside the cabin, mingling with a faint lemony cologne and the smell of cigarettes. “So… How was driving on the Autobahn in a death machine while falling asleep?”

 

He snorted, finally focusing on the mechanic’s face. He was probably the least photogenic person in the world, since the guy was extremely handsome in person, with a square jaw that even _Bruce_ would envy, covered by a slight shadow of a beard. His nose was a bit crooked, probably the result of a fight, and his eyes were framed by long beautiful lashes that would put Selina’s to shame. “Don’t remember. But when I was a awake, it was the best feeling in the world. Everyone should drive at the Autobahn once in their lives. It was like a dream, green everywhere, the sunset right in front of you, the freedom…And at night? _Fuck_ , stars everywhere…” Tim rubbed his hands, already feeling anxious to grip the wheel and just bask in the kind of freedom that he could only get when riding his driver’s high (Dr. Strange said once in one of their many mandatory and boring sessions that he thrived for the adrenaline while driving, since most of his life he was kept captive inside his house, and somehow that reflected his daddy issues. Well, fuck you Dr. Strange, he’d rather die than listening to someone whose last name was _Strange_.). The heir watched as Mr. Todd maneuvered the tow into the brightly lit garage with the ease that only a guy who did that for a living could muster.

 

“Listen, I took a quick look at Sheila while you were napping, and it won’t take long to fix her, probably an hour or two.”

 

“Great! I can get to Gotham before sunrise and I’ll be in t—“

 

“No. You’re not driving unless you really sleep. You know that the bags in your eyes have bags, they’re like a Gotham socialite after Gotham Fashion Week… Shit kid, you look like a raccoon.” Tim frowned, clenching his fists and puffing his chest—usually that was a stance that worked on Damian and sometimes Bruce, but the mechanic simply raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms and looking even bigger than he already was, as if Tim was just a harmless pufferfish. “You _need_ to sleep.”

 

“That’s rich coming from a guy who looks like an angry skunk who didn’t get the half-eaten donut from the bottom of the trashcan.” The eyebrow rose a little higher before Mr. Todd’s laugh came out, a booming sound resonating around the garage, bouncing on the walls and coming back to Tim’s ears. The boy couldn’t take it and started snickering, a slander hand covering his mouth while their shoulders shook. “Sorry, I get a little grumpy when I don’t take my naps.”

 

“There’s a couch in the administration room, you’re tiny enough to fit in. I’ll call you around nine.”

 

* * *

 

 **Today** 04:28 AM

 

_look at this babe roytoy_

_rich kid crashed it against a tree_

_shit_

_is that an exclusive selection_

_in red?_

_jaybird im breaking up w/ kori_

_im in love_

_ikr_

_look at the wheels roy_

_roy the leather in the interior is gorgeous_

_and the kid let a bunch of monster fall on it_

_its absolutely gross_

_call cps on his ass jay_

_thats a crime_

_ill tell the judge that were a functional couple_

_we can adopt it and call her Janet_

_she already has a name_

_Sheila and its beautiful_

_a beautiful car_

_named after ur mom_

_shit jay you either steal it or marry the boy_

_I bet hes a fugly dude full of pimples_

_wrong_

_the dude is cute_

_tiny kind of dorky and a smart mouth_

_called me a raccoon_

_said that we look like the lovechild of duck dynasty w/ monster garage_

_ouch_

_that was mean_

_told you the ad was horrible man_

_he also said that the bat needed a diet_

_:(_

_hes mean jay steal the car_

_ill help you hide the body_

_kori says hi and lian snored_

_tell the girls i said hi_

_i miss them_

_:(_

_kori said shell go back_

_we can be a happy family again :D_

_but only if you make that cheesecake_

_you know the one with guava jam on top_

_tell kori ill make two_

_one just for the royalty_

_the other one you guys can share_

_im not too big on that sharing is caring thing_

_rich asshole is rubbing off on you jaybird_

_stop being mean_

Jason smiled at his phone vibrating, now there was a photo of Kori wearing a Burger King crow over her luscious mane of red hair, flipping him off with a tanned Lian laying in her lap. Hawaiian sun really did wonders for them whilst Roy probably looked like a mix of an overcooked burrito and a jalapeño. He missed them, with Kori on the run with her top-model lifestyle and Roy following her around during some parts of the year the shop felt empty—a shell of their lives where he misses their laughter and missed Lian’s soft footsteps echoing around the shop. But if Kori was coming back, even if it’s for a little while, the loneliness would be a little more tolerable.

 

He sighed, caressing the car in front of him. Shit he got it bad for the beauty on his shop—damn sleek Audi models that only a billionaire would be able to afford. The mechanic’s thoughts came to an abrupt halt when he felt small hands bunching on his red jumper and a face buried between his shoulder blades. “Come to bed, babe. I miss you.” Oh great, Mr. Zombie driver was now coming up to him. “Been missing you a lot, babe.”

 

“Hmm… Mr. Drake I guess you’re mistaking me…” The boy on his back purred, nosing his back. His soft hands let go of the rough fabric, skimming his waist until Tim was hugging him with the full force his small body could produce.

 

“I love it when you get all formal babe…” Jason turned his head and there was the small rich zombie boy, smiling with his mouth and closed eyes, and, in between his slurred words, some snores made their way. _Totally a zombie._ He covered his face as the boy kept on rambling, his voice turning even more incoherent at each word, but still he could hear soft _babes_ , _I need you so much_ , _you mean the world to me I’m sorry_. Poor rich kid. Jason exhaled, turning around and picking up Tim in his arms, the kid was still dressed as sharply as in the moment he found him, but now, the tired look was disappearing from his face and he looked so much younger bunched up in his arms, rubbing his face all over Jason’s chest like an overgrown kitten. “Tell you what, I’ll get you out of those clothes and we’ll go sleep a little hm?”

 

“Yeah…” He moaned softly, a slight blush covering his pale features. _Jesus he looks like a happy puppy._ “Love you babe, so glad you’re back.” The mechanic moved him back to the grey couch in the administration room, surrounded by papers and a Pirelli calendar, perpetually stuck in the month of April 2012—Kori was the model of that month, printed in black and white while wrapped in silk sheets in front of a cherry tree. “So warm…” Tim moaned again, snapping Jason back into the reality. He placed the boy as gently as he could on the furniture, removing his suit and the tie that could suffocate him in his sleep, and, as his last measure, he placed a worn out brown leather jacket over the boy, who sighed happily and went back to sleep.

 

“What a hell of a night.” Jason drooped on the cozy leather chair behind his desk, still eyeing the boy for any signs of trouble in his sleep, but in fifteen minutes of observation it seemed that Tim calmed enough and went back to his sleep. He crossed his fingers over his belly, closing his eyes and waiting until sleep claimed his body.

 

* * *

 

“You are a miracle worker, Mr. Todd!” Tim beamed, running his hands over the front of Sheila—she was good as new, as if nothing ever happened to her front, and even looked a little more charming without the Monster cans littering around her seat. “Nobody will ever know what happened with her!”

 

Jason’s grin couldn’t be more radiant, it was good to have a satisfied customer (and one that insisted in paying him the double of the price he charged, just because he cleaned up the interior of the Audi). “Glad to be of assistance, Mr. Drake. But you need to take better care of Sheila, this girl is beautiful and she needs the resp— Oh shit that was your stomach?“ Tim seemed to blush over another gurgling guttural sound from his belly, sounding like the wakening of an Elder God. He didn’t eat for a couple of days, so preoccupied with his business over Germany, then Metropolis and soon the Japanese sharks in Gotham. His stomach protested before he could fill the silence and Jason was already on the move, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him outside. “I swear to God kid, first you don’t sleep and now you don’t eat? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

 

“Shut up I didn’t have the time to munch anything other than protein bars. It’s hard to eat when you have a schedule as tight as mine.”

 

The mechanic grumbled, stopping in front of the highway before dragging him to the restaurant across the road—a typical dirty place where truck driver stopped for a quick refill before hitting the road again. “Loretta! Eggs, pancakes, bacon and bucks of coffees for two! This runt here has been living on _protein bars_!” Loretta, an old woman with wrinkles around her eyes that looked like everyone’s favorite person in the world with her greased apron gasped horrified, screaming at the cook and how kids this days don’t know how to eat.

 

“Did you had to tell the whole place that?” Tim grumbled, shuffling on his feet as his face turned red—so red he could bled in the leather of their booth, if not for the holes made from cigarette embers.

 

“I’m teaching you a lesson. You will forever remember the day that you were shamed by Loretta.” Jason’s booming laughter appeared again, just as the woman started to put their plates down and two steaming cups of black coffee that made Tim salivate. “Really kid, you won’t live much if you keep going like that. I thought rich people killed themselves doing drugs and drowning on bathtubs filled with champagne.” He laughed, trying not to look too eager when drinking his coffee—black, no sugar, no cream, just the marvelous taste of freshly roasted beans hitting his mouth and making him sigh.

 

“They usually do that, but I’m not into drugs or alcohol.” Tim ran his fingers over the warm mug, his eyes taking in Jason in the full daylight. “My vice is work. I love my work, I love working.” He sighed with pleasure with another gulp of coffee, it’s been too long since the last time he had real coffee, not the one that comes from a cup of plastic inside a machine that tasted more like sugar than his favorite Colombian roast, and it felt great. “You know, this feels like a vacation to me.” Jason crinkled his nose, brows furrowing over the declaration.

 

“Once again, rich people got me fooled. I thought you all flocked to the Hamptons during the summer then came back, lived in Gotham for a little while, then flew to Barbados in the winter.” When Loretta came back with the banquet of food, she had to stop and refill Tim’s mug, a gentle blush covering her face when he told her that her coffee was one of the best things he’s ever tasted.

 

“Once again, you’re right. But I stay in Gotham through the summer, spring, winter and autumn. I leave only when work requires me to.”

 

They dived into a warm conversation—Jason was surprisingly a smart man, who could go from cars to his love from classical books in a few minutes and Tim appreciated that kind of intelligence, the kind of talk where he could talk freely and for hours over their mugs and empty plates. There was no pressure, just a too handsome mechanic that still looked like a skunk (but now he was a happy skunk, kind of like Pepe Le Pew when getting the cat) and a stressed out heir. Jason wasn’t afraid on calling him out on his bad habits, going as far as talking about his work addiction as if it was a drug. And Tim wasn’t afraid to mock the billboard once more.

 

_Vacations for sure._


	2. the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian was going to kill him one of these days, and he wouldn’t have to rip his throat out like he always promises on thanksgivings dinners, the kid would only have to breathe once more and he would be a dead man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Thesis? What thesis?

“Oh my god please pick up please pick up fortheloveofgodToddpickit—“

 

“Rent a bat, this is Todd speaking.”

 

“TODD JESUS FUCKING CHRIST I NEED YOU!” Tim nearly shrieked over the phone, his hands puling the black, messy oily hair from its roots—Damian was going to kill him one of these days, and he wouldn’t have to rip his throat out like he always promises on thanksgivings dinners, the kid would only have to breathe once more and he would be a dead man. “TODD PLEASE JESUS FUCKING CHRIST BRUCE WILL HANG ME AND DICK BY THE BALLS!”

 

“Mr. Drake?” He shot up from his chair, accidentally throwing the last of the strawberries cupcakes that Lian made on the floor, creating a pink mushy starry mass over the grey concrete, no doubt about on how sad Lian will be (but the cupcakes were burned so badly that Kori had to decorate them with insane amounts of frosting to make them edible). "Calm down, Mr. Drake and tell me what happened.”

 

“THE FUCKING BRAT HAPPENED, WHAT BRUCE WAS THINKING? OH GREAT KNOW THIS WOMAN HERE WHOSE FATHER TRIED TO BUY MY COMPANY BY SCAMMING ME? YEAH THAT’S A GREAT PLACE TO STICK MY PENIS AND HAVE A DEMON SPAWN THAT WILL RUIN EVERYTHING HE TOUCHES! YAHOO MAKING AN HEIR TO THE DEVIL HIMSELF HERE I COME!” Jason had to put the phone away from his ear while Tim rambled on about _the damn demon spawn_. On the background he could hear a teenager screaming death threats (probably a teenager since his voice varied from low threatening rumbles to embarrassing high pitches that would make Montserrat Caballé shiver in envy), someone trying to calm things down (this particular person sounded extremely tired, like a Cleveland Browns’ fan after a particular disastrous game) and another someone shrieking harder than Tim (this one must have tears in his eyes). “YES DAMIAN YOU WEREN’T NAMED AFTER ALEXANDER THE GREAT! YOU WERE NAMED AFTER THE ANTI-CHRIST OF THE OMEN!  YOU ARE THE DEVIL AND YOU’RE HERE TO KILL EVERY LAST RAY OF HOPE MANKIND CAN CLING TO! YOU ARE THE SPAWN OF SATAN! DICK HOLD HIM DOWN I WANNA SEE IF HE HAS THE MARK OF THE BEAST BEHIND HIS NECK! I SWEAR TO GOD I’LL GIVE YOU AN ENEMA WITH HOLY WATER JUST TO SEE YOU BURNING FROM YOUR ANUS DAMIAN!” Roy was now peeking curiously from the door, barely containing his laughter—Tim was screaming so loud that even Kori emerged from the corner of her office, eyes large like saucers as he continued to scream profanities and death threats. “I’m so fucking sorry you had to hear this Mr. Todd but… Christ.”

 

The boy finally seemed to stop, and Jason could hear the desperation from each word, cut by an ugly sobbing and, finally, silence. “Okay Mr. Drake what happened? From what I’ve figured out, the devil himself is having fun at your expenses.” He listened Tim taking a gulp of air, then another, before his voice came out, weak and weary from shouting.

 

“The devil spawn tried to drive a Rolls-Royce Phantom III because it belonged to Mr. Thomas Wayne and, since he’s allegedly the true heir to the Wayne clan, it was his birthright. But the kid can’t drive and he fucking drove the car into a wall. Twice.” This time, the shriek came from _his_ side of the line, from a horrified Roy Harper dropping all of his tools on the floor, Kori took off instantly to shut him up. “I don’t know who to call Mr. Todd, we have the parts but no one wants to touch it. But Bruce will be back in four days and probably blame me and Dick for not taking better care of Damian… He wrecked his father’s favorite car Mr. Todd.” He started to wail and Jason could even hear the sound of knuckles hitting something _hard_. “Bruce will be fucking devastated. I need your help Mr. Todd.”

 

“Calm down kid… You said you have the parts, right? That’s the hardest part and you already did it. Calm down, Roy and I are on our way and we promise you we’ll try our best okay?” The sobs turned into a full cry over the line, mingled with so many _thank yous_ that made Jason believe that Tim only knew those two words. “Mr. Drake I need to know your address.

 

“You know the Wayne Manor?”

 

“Who doesn’t?”

 

“It’s the Wayne Manor. Just tell Alfred you’re here for the car. Thank you Mr. Todd.”

 

The line went dead and Jason had to look at an aghast Roy Harper, trying to gather all his belongings (with Kori still shushing him effectively). “Wayne Manor. We’re either going to become filthy rich after this job or we’ll be hanged by the balls by the Prince of Gotham himself, Roy. Suit up.”

  

* * *

 

 

The Wayne Manor was the poster child of the opulence of Gotham’s old families. Built around 19andgodknowswhen, the thing was a castle standing amidst the last of the city forest. The whole place mocked every other manor in the city with its elegance. Most of them were too ugly, too gothic, too unkempt, or maybe their residents didn’t have the trademark elegance that ran in the Wayne family like a dominant trace. The grey stones of the walls stood clean and shining against the morning sun, the bushes were always well groomed (unfortunately, at closer inspection, some of them looked like decapitated animals) and the front gates never creaked when they slid open or close.

 

At the end of a small white road, the circular patio was filled with every mechanic wet dreams: a collection of expensive cars, in every color available ( _Look at the Jaguar, in DARK PURPLE! CONVERTIBLE, BLACK GRIDS, OH JAY I WANNA ROB THEM! And the green Mustang.._ ) welcomed them, some covered with brownish leaves and some of them shinning as if someone had just waxed them. At the middle of the patio, stood a disheveled Timothy Drake in a coffee stained white shirt and dirty dress pants, looking like he didn’t sleep for at least one week (which was fairly common, to be honest) and with a split lip he kept worrying  between pearly teeth.

 

“Mr. Drake.” Jason said, stepping out of his car to greet the miserable heir. Tim just nodded, signaling for him to follow his tumbling steps to another garage, this one filled with what looked like every model Rolls-Royce must have ever produced (damn rich folks).

 

“It’s right there, Mr. Todd.”

 

“This one looks good.” Roy said with a smile, circling the black Phantom III that rested peacefully amongst her sisters and brothers. Jason had to raise an eyebrow, staring at the young heir that was now blushing and mumbling something under his breath. “…What?” He just pointed at the far end of the garage, where another Rolls-Royce sat, looking like some toddler tried to smash it to pieces. “…Dear Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus. It’s a Rolls-Royce Phantom IV.”

 

Roy shrieked like a banshee.

 

Tim skipped the sniffles, starting straight away to cry silently.

 

Jason shook his head.

 

“I’m…I’m so sorry… I didn’t know who to call, everyone said they wouldn’t get _near_ Martha… And… I know I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Mr. Todd. If you want to give up that’s okay, I’ll pay the price for your visit.” The kid sounded heartbroken, barely making sense in his words when Jason placed his hand on his shoulder, giving some heart-warming squeeze to stop the boy in his words. That was going to be a hell of a work, but the kid seemed to go over the hardest part, since the spare parts lay beside the battered car.

 

“They are _crazy!”_ Roy joined them, ruffling Tim’s hair before beaming. “I’d kill to _touch_ one of them. Let us do the work kid, we’ll try our best.” The boy smiled, cleaning his tears with a bruised and bloodied hand—which made him look like some sort of ancient fighter lost in time trying a new kind of warpaint. “How did you get the spare parts dude?”

 

“You know what they say in the army Mr. Harper.” Tim smiled, and it was a little frightening to see the crying kid showing his teeth like a great white shark who spotted a sick seal drifting about.

 

“ _Semper fi_?”

 

“That’s the Marines’ motto, asshole.”

 

“ _Don’t ask, don’t tell_.”

 

Both mechanics laughed like maniacs, creating the sort of atmosphere that precedes the storm—and the storm came with thunderous little footsteps from a teenager that emerged from the shadows, holding himself like a little prince (although, Jason would soon discovery that he was more of an _enfant terrible_ ). “So, no one wanted to do it, so you hired Dumb and Dumberer to end her?” Tim’s reaction was immediate, like an angry cat ready to pounce—and Jason had to slip his arms under the heir’s armpits to trying lock him in his place. The kid ran at full speed at them, but was stopped by someone running from the stairs on the left and holding him by the waist.

 

Several minutes of fraternal discussion followed, with arguments regarding the veracity of Tim’s adoption papers and Damian’s status as human—Tim seemed to think of him as some sort of devilish goblin who was trying to take over the world.

 

The best they could do was not snicker at any phrase or action (Roy failed at this one when Tim, still contained by Jason, grabbed a packet of salt and tried to throw it on his little brother), hold Tim down and sympathize with someone who looked like Dick Grayson (the real Dick Grayson wouldn’t be caught with an oily hair, wearing polka dots pajamas and with black circles so heavy under his eyes that the papers would run out of ink trying to print just one issue with his face).

 

“That’s enough.” The order came from a disgruntled ancient butler, holding a silver plate with two lemonades. Alfred took care of Martha and Thomas Wayne. Then Bruce. But nothing could ever compare to the current lineage of Waynes that seemed to solve all their problems with punches and fruitless arguments (he misses Cassandra dearly). “Master Timothy, you have a meeting with Lucius in two hours. Master Damian, I strongly advise you to stay out of the garage for your own sake. I won’t be able to hold Master Timothy like that gentleman is doing, therefore I won’t be able to prevent your stay at the hospital. Master Richard… Take Master Damian upstairs and _keep_ him there.” The kids scrambled, heads bowed down and muttering their apologies.

 

Alfred was not someone you’d want to cross or disappoint.

 

“Would the gentlemen be interested in anything other than lemonade?”

 

* * *

 

 

Alfred’s lemonade was the most delicious thing they’ve ever tasted, a small piece of heaven disguised as a refreshment. Alfred himself wasn’t bad—the old butler would check them diligently at every three hours, bringing lunch, a small snack, dinner and the tidbits about how Mr. Thomas Wayne got that model and the stories surrounding the car. Apparently, it was Alfred’s favorite among the collection, due the fond memories of carrying the couple and a small _Master Bruce, who was a rascal just like his son and tried the same thing, except he already knew how to drive. But until today, he can’t ride a bike._

Dick Grayson showed up around 4 pm, looking better than he looked in his ridiculous pajamas, but the ghost of the _seducing minx of Gotham,_ as Ms. Vicki Vale liked to describe him was nowhere to be found. He walked around in yoga pants and shirt with a hole near his nipple, holding a carton of Ben & Jerry’s. And, apparently, he couldn’t say three sentences without cracking a joke (and Roy straight up fell on the floor laughing with each one of them, fueling the older Wayne kid’s train of obnoxious anecdotes). Jason had to send him upstairs thirty minutes later.

 

When Damian Wayne arrived, a cat seemed to follow him. Both creatures glanced at the Rolls-Royce (who looked a little better) with a critical eye and left without saying anything other than a dismissive cluck of his tongue and an annoyed meow.

 

Timothy Drake was the last one to arrive, around midnight, cracking the leather gloves he used to cover his bruised hands. The kid let out a relieved sigh, by then, the back of Martha already looked new and Jason and Roy had their efforts focused on the front part of the car. “Thank you.” He said in a small and tired voice, running his fingers over the black chassis.

 

“Don’t thank us yet, Mr. Drake. Our work is far from being done.” He announced from under the car, using a light hanging over the hood and his source of brightness.

 

“Tim. Tim is just fine, Mr. Todd.”

 

“Then call me Jason. And pass me the ratchet on your right.”

 

* * *

 

 

They worked together, then in shifts for three days straight. And in three days Roy became Dick’s best friend and was allowed to touch his carton of Phish Food (an honor that not even Mr. Wayne himself had). Alfred developed a soft spot for both of them, feeding the mechanics and providing them blankets and pillows for their sleep (not without chastising them over not taking one of the manor’s bedrooms). Damian didn’t apologize for his deeds, but during four hours he stood there, listening carefully at Jason narrating what he was doing and nodding along, popping a few smart questions over the mechanics of the car.

 

Tim only showed up past midnight, when Roy and Jason already had shed the upper part of their greasy red jumpsuits, wrapping it around their waist. Usually thanking them with a small voice. The kid looked always on the verge of a caffeine fueled silent breakdown—a frown, a mug and an iPad usually decorated his features and he gave the impression that sleep was a farfetched concept.

 

In the morning of the fourth day, Tim was draped over the renewed front of the car, trapped by Jason’s arms that bracket his tiny frame, fat tears slipping from his eyes when he heard the engine purring. “Good as new, don’t you think Tim?” He spun around, holding the mechanic’s face in his hands and placing a kiss against his lips.

 

Behind the wheel, Roy Harper grinned with his mouth full of Triple Caramel Chunk.

 

“Sorry, that was out of line.” He whispered, tiny body shaking along the car’s motion. Jason placed his hand over the heir’s bony hips, bringing him over for another kiss—this time he bit his bottom lip, parting them softly before slipping his tongue inside and effectively shutting Tim up.

  

* * *

 

 

**Dear Mr. Jason Todd and Mr. Roy Harper,**

**You are cordially invited to attend the annual Benefit Ball for the Neon Knights Foundation. The gala event will begin at 8:00 p.m., Friday, October 28, in the Wayne Manor Ballroom, located at 1007 Mountain Drive.**

**Your response by October 10 will be appreciated.**

**Bruce Wayne.**

 

“What the fuck Jaybird, tell your boyfriend that we don’t even have _appropriate clothing_ for that kind of thing.” Roy was staring at the golden letters as if in any minute something would jump from the rectangular piece of paper and shred his throat out.

 

Jason only sipped his lukewarm coffee, a raised eyebrow eyeing the thing critically. “We are not boyfriends. We kissed once, he was overwhelmed and I was sleep deprived. And how do you know it isn’t one of your best friend’s doing?” The redhead mumbled, picking up his phone and typing with an astounding speed a message for Dick (Jason would bet this month’s rent that half of it was unintelligible for anyone but those two morons). He concluded, a few weeks prior, that talking to either Roy or Dick was the closest he would get to the ancient Egypt since they have taken emojis as a serious form of communication, their modern hierograph-type of communication that even Kori was picking up.

 

Last week she texted him from Spain, a myriad of fishes and vegetables along with a happy girl and a balloon, meaning _I ate too much paella, now I’m full._ “Dick said the man himself invited us and Alfred will take us to a tailor tomorrow.”

 

“Fuck.”

  

* * *

 

 

It is official, _Jason Todd hates socializing._

 

He felt out of place stuck inside the sharp and crispy black suit while Roy enjoyed the night away chatting with Dick. Lian was the princess charming of the party, every old lady seemed drawn to her and she basked on the attention—that’s it until Cassandra Cain-Wayne waltzed in and decided to give the guests a free sample of her famous ballet routine (apparently she could put the Bolshoi _and_ the Mariisnky dancers to shame by dancing _en pointe with knives_ ). From then on, Lian marched on her little blue dress, ignoring the old hags that wanted to pinch her cheeks and asking for the only female Wayne to teach her how to dance.

 

And Cassandra? She smiled like never before, taking the little girl’s hand in hers and teaching absolutely all she could (Lian and Cassandra would show up in the socialite life column on tomorrow’s Gotham Gazette edition with the way the photographers kept hovering them).

 

Bruce Wayne was just a blur, passing from guest to guest and stopping at small agglomerations to chat—a testy Damian forcing a smile and a radiant Tim, dressed in a burgundy red suit and black pants at his heels.

 

Jason Todd was bored out of his mind—even if Alfred kept him company during a few minutes, apologizing for the situation, but Mr. Wayne wanted to thank him for fixing Martha (apparently, a few days later, the head of the house thought it was strange for Tim and Damian not trying to strangle each other during dinner. It took just one glance in Dick’s direction and he spilled the beans, the proverbial and the literal ones, finally getting away from Alfred’s healthy food). It took another hour and three flutes of champagne before Bruce and his committee parted the sea of bodies like Moses and his crew and came towards him. “Mr. Todd.” Bruce’s voice was grave—not a businesslike grave, but the kind of grave that comes from scolding three devilish boys and dealing with investors 24/7. The kind of voice that assured him that Mr. Bruce Wayne was someone to be respected, not because of his financial or social status, but because he could whoop you ass in two minutes flat. “Thank you for fixing my kids’ mistakes. Your work along with Mr. Harper was quite remarkable.”

 

“No problem.” Jason shrugged, feeling the tip of his ears burning red—getting praised by the prince of Gotham himself wasn’t something someone wouldn’t blush over. “We just did our job.”

 

“No. You two repaired a Rolls-Royce Phantom IV.” The whole room fell silent and, internally, Jason groaned because now, he and his best friend were the center of the attention. ”In four days.” Slowly people flocked towards them, interested in what could they do for their cars. Roy just smiled, taking mental notes and writing down their phones in too many business cards.

 

Apparently, all it took to make them have work for the rest of the year was a word from Bruce Wayne (and maybe a few enthusiastic exclamations from Dick Grayson, telling what could be called ‘The tale of the ruined Phantom’). Tim just smiled secretively behind the rim of his champagne flute.

 

* * *

 

“Quite a night, don’t you think?” Tim’s voice snapped him out of his reverie, it was getting closer to three in the morning and only a few patrons remained at the party. Dick was doing somersaults over empty tables while Roy clapped along like a maniac, Cassandra was trying to teach Lian how to stay _en pointe_ with little ballerina shoes that Alfred seemed to produce from thin air—Bruce Wayne himself disappeared around one am and Damian could be seen sulking outside with his dog.

 

“Quite a night…” He mumbled, still observing the madness going around— the old people left were having fun with the youngsters and their champagne-fueled nightlife. “We now have work for _weeks_ , I think I should thank you for falling asleep behind the wheel, but I fear that would make you smug and encourage you to do that again.”

 

The heir laughed quietly, raising a flute of and taking its last sip. Tim shuffled a bit closer, rubbing his arm subtly against Jason’s. And the mechanic response was a slow, calculated move to place his hand over the small of his back. “Mhhmhm… If I say that I want you to kiss me again, can I blame it on the booze?”

 

“You’ve been drinking sparkling water the whole time, Mr. Drake.”

 

“Touché.” He beamed, handing over his flute to a passing waiter and relishing in the small circular motions Jason was making on his back. “There’s this new coffee shop, ran by people who the Neon Knights Foundation supports…” Tim shoved his hands inside his pockets, smiling for one of the few photographers who remained at the party—undoubtedly that photo wouldn’t make it in the front covers, it would probably rest on page seven, along with Dick hanging from the chandelier holding Roy suspended by the hands in a graceful move. “I suppose I can pay you back from breakfast at Loretta’s.”

 

Jason only kept his motions, humming under his breath the same circus tune that Dick was caroling out loud. “She still asks me if you’re addicted to protein bars.”


	3. Congratulations!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mechanic’s lips stopped a few millimeters of his, azure eyes (with some green freckles, Tim noticed, and up close like that, framed by dark long lashes, they looked like two clear blue opals) staring directly at his. “Kinky. Should I be worried about this Conner?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I took so long to update this, my astral hell started and things were a bit confusing for a while

**Today** 3:10 PM

 

_Help me Jason I’m bored_

_japanese investors?_

_The most boring investors I’ve ever faced._

_They are trying to lower the price of our tech._

_Saying that it won’t work on the long run._

_wreck them_

_Bruce is taking care of that as we speak._

His phone vibrated again with Tim sending a picture of Bruce Wayne writing down an equation on a white board. His face didn’t have the stoic quality he’s seen on the news, perpetually stuck in his playboy smile—there’s a tired expression marring his features, as if he was explaining to a five year old how a water tap works.

 

_shit he looks pissed off_

_Bruce knows the difference between being wrong and being scammed._

_Damian’s mom taught him that._

_from what ive seen_

_its pretty hard to not be scammed_

_Are you really trying to tell me…_

_That you have the hots…_

_For my /younger brother’s mom/?_

_I’m hurt._

_shes gorgeous timbo_

_but ive got no interest in that_

_i like boys who mistreat cars better_

 

Tim blushed at that, and, from across the table, Dick flashed him a knowing smile, mouthing _Tim and Jason sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G._ He just texted him a middle finger emoji back (thank you Apple for including that in the latest update). His phone buzzed again, now with a picture of Roy in his jeans squatting beside a roughened up Bentley, and, in the best fashion of the mechanics, his shirt rode up and his ass crack was showing up. Beside him stood Kori, hands clasped in front of her mouth in a silent prayer and trying to keep a straight face. Tim had to bite down his bottom lip before he laughed and the investors thought it was an offense.

 

_i  fucking love kori_

_Can I forward it to Dick?_

 

_you do that_

Dick had to excuse himself seconds later, looking too red from keeping his laughter in.

 

* * *

 

  **Today** 12:06 PM

_roy isnt talking to me_

_he said i betrayed the mechanics code of honor_

_Well, you let me forward it to Dick._

_Of course the picture would end in his Instagram account._

_he says i need a picture of dick doing something embarrassing_

_thats the only way to restore his honor_

Tim sent him a picture of Dick with his face covered in chana dal, chewing with his mouth open a piece of chicken tandoori, beside him Damian looked at the scene as if Dick was a caveman, a mix of disgust and resignation covering his features.

 

_Damian decided we needed some Indian food._

_roy said our friendship is restored_

_shit did you get samosas?_

He got a picture of Tim, dressed in a mint green casual shirt, holding what could be called the most beautiful and appetizing samosa he ever saw in his life (but the samosa was nothing compared to how happy and rested Tim looked).

 

_These are the best samosas in town._

_I’ll bring you here one day._

 

* * *

**Today** 01:45 AM

 

_Hwat is balooney made of_

_Shit srry jay I thought it wsa gogle_

_tim go to sleep_

_Cnat_

_2 much coffee_

_turn off your phone and go to sleep tim_

_Mssi u jay_

_Is it weird_

_Lik weveseen each other maybe 3 times_

_not at all_

_now go to sleep_

_Sned a pic_

_And ill sleep_

_Pinky romise_

Jason sighed, turning on the frontal camera of his phone and snapping a quick grainy photo of him with Lian draped over his stomach (he loved sleeping with Lian—that usually happened when he was reading her a particular good chapter of a book, this week pick was Owl Moon. Better than _Don’t Let The Pigeon Drive The Bus_ , that prompted Lian to look at every new costumer and ask if the pigeon was driving their cars. Some of them understood, some of them (Dr. Thomas Elliot, for example) had to sit in the administration room and read it to Lian.) and black framed glasses perched on his nose.

 

_U wear glass_

_Hot_

_sometimes_

_now will you sleep or do i have to read you something_

He received a picture of a sleepy Tim Drake, wrapped up in a huge comforter—his eyes were almost closed and there was a dazed smile playing on his lips. Even with his hair tousled Tim managed to look gorgeous

 

_Wsh you cluld kiss me gnight_

_Gnight jay_

_good night pretty bird_

_  
_

* * *

 

It took them several messages and selfies filled weeks to fit their trip in their busy schedules: Jason had to deal with the most varied cases in his shop, ranging from the full destruction of a Dogde Ram (courtesy of Mr. Thomas Elliot who didn’t know how someone could slash his brakes—twice!) to a limousine with seats stained with too much cat pee (Selina Kyle, serial cat owner and Egyptology enthusiast). And Tim was still dealing with his Japanese investors. By the time they worked a small frame of time in their lives, the winter was blessing Gotham with its first flakes. Jason and Tim ended up huddled inside the coffee shop, still wrapped in their heavy parkas (both red—somehow they matched without knowing). “I don’t know what I hate more, winter or Wayne parties.”

 

Tim laughed quietly savoring the dark bitter espresso while Jason slurped a complicated concoction (coffee, warm almond milk and caramel with _fleur de sel_ , an abomination, if someone asked the Wayne heir, but since no one asked him anything, he couldn’t scream at the top of his lungs that the beverage was a sin against Our Lady of Lattes). “I’d go with Wayne parties, if you had to suffer through them for most of your life, you’d understand my hatred for them.”

 

“Poor rich Timmers. Suffering with canapés and wine.” That made the heir shove Jason a bit in his sit, but he didn’t budge, the guy was simply a wall of muscles (Thank you Our Lady of Wet Dreams for this blessing). “But if every party is like that, I think I’d rather face them than the winter.”

 

“One time…” He started, licking the brownish foam from the rim of his mug. “We had a chocolate fountain. And Ms. Kyle came along… Mrs. Sullivan was wearing a chinchilla fur coat, and bragging about it. It took Damian and Selina .2 seconds to unite and lift the chocolate fountain, and in their best PETA style, they threw all the chocolate on top of Mrs. Sullivan.” Jason gave him a small snort, almost spitting out his drink (he had to cover his nose, since some of the drink threatened to go out through that route). “Bruce made them apologize to Mrs. Sullivan… Then… Twenty minutes later, they were giving a very colorful powerpoint presentation about the fur industry. It was both endearing and disturbing.” The mechanic let out a full laughter, shoulders shaking while imagining the little devil doing all that, accompanied by the respectful Ms. Kyle (who the journals rumored that was an art/jewelry thief, but he preferred her image as the city’s cat protector). “Then we had the time when Dick drank a little too much whiskey and sung Afro Circus while hanging from the chandelier.”

 

In the middle of their laughter, Jason used his free hand to take Tim’s chin between his fingers, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip (no, Tim didn’t blush at that gesture, _absolutely not, the redness was from the winter winds_ ). “And what embarrassing stories do we have about you?”

 

“…I… I did…. Damian’s last birthday.” Tim bit his lips, avoiding Jason’s finger by some miracle of nature. “I ate the yetsom beyaynetu wrong.”

 

“ _What_?”

 

“It’s an Ethiopian dish, apparently you grab a piece of bread and pinch the food. I made a burrito and ruined my shirt. Vicki Vale told everything about this mishap on page 16.” Jason was now nosing his jawline, dropping small kisses over his pinkish skin. “I stepped on Steph’s foot the whole time during her sweet sixteen waltz…” A chaste kiss on the corner of his lips made Tim’s blush spread over his neck. “Lex Luthor caught me giving Conner a blowjob under the table of last year’s New Year’s gala.”

 

The mechanic’s lips stopped a few millimeters of his, azure eyes (with some green freckles, Tim noticed, and up close like that, framed by dark long lashes, they looked like two clear blue opals) staring directly at his. “Kinky. Should I be worried about this Conner?”

 

“No.”

 

“Great.”

 

Jason was the one who crossed the short distance between them, pressing their lips in another chaste kiss. But Tim was the one brave enough to part them and dive into Jason’s mouth (he tastes like caramel, salt and faintly of smoke) and kissed the mechanic so sweetly he thinks he might get cavities. The angle feels wrong, so Tim rearranges himself on their seat, resting his arms over Jason’s shoulders and allowing his soft hands to caress the buzz of his undercut and trace a the tiny scars along his scalp. Jason just places a hand innocently on his thigh, rubbing soothing circles against his jeans.

 

They stop for air once or twice, never wandering too far from one another. Jason covers his face with pecks—over his cheeks, nose and chin before biting his lips and taking them in other sugary unrushed kisses. “The first time I saw you…” Tim says a little breathless and dizzy, whispering the words against Jason’s moist mouth. “I thought you looked like a really angry skunk.”

 

He points at the white tuft of hair, falling charmingly over Jason’s right eye. The mechanic just laughs, pecking his lips a few times before replying. “You looked like an overworked raccoon. That was my second thought.”

 

“What was the first?”

 

Jason just smiles, crooked and a little yellowed teeth showing, the blush from the weather and their kiss still spreading against his skin.

 

“I’m going to fucking murder you for hitting an Audi R8 Exclusive Selection Edition, in _red_.”

 

Tim snorted, hiding his face against the crook of his neck.

 

* * *

 

“So, now you know all the embarrassing stories about me.”

 

“Three stories mustn’t cover all the things you’ve did, Tim.”

 

The heir shuffles closer to Jason, squeezing the gloved hands that held his. “I’ve told you about the embarrassing blowjob.” Jason inhales his cigarette, letting the ashes fall onto the snowy ground. After their coffee had gone cold and the employees of the coffee shop started smiling knowingly at the duo, they decided to end their night with a dinner somewhere else. “Isn’t that enough for now? Tell me something about you.”

 

“Grew up on Crime Alley.” Jason furrowed his brows, teeth clenching around the cigarette as he spoke. “Had to go to juvie hall for stealing after my mom died. Met Roy there. He’s a genius behind his hillbilly looks, and we hit it off right away.” Tim just nodded, squeezing their hands again—Jason probably thought his past would scare him, but no, the man beside him seemed a lot better. “When I got out, I crossed the wrong guy on the street. Got beaten up to an inch of my life.”

 

He would let out the fact that he was clinically dead for two minutes.

 

“Spent two years in a coma, still dealing with the hospital bills.”

 

Tim raised up their hands, cold lips pressing against Jason’s gloved fingers until he could reach a bare part of his wrists—there was a faint scar there and suddenly he felt like grabbing Jason and sheltering from every evil in this world, kissing the hidden scars under all the layers of clothing. “Shortly after I came back, Roy became a single parent. Lian liked me better and he made me wear a bra with a bottle inside it so Lian could have the full mom experience.” The heir laughed, trying to ignore all the painful history and focus on the mental image of Jason with a bottle beneath his shirt, running around the garage.

 

“I bet you were a pretty good mom.”

 

“The best until Kori came around. I can’t believe how lucky Roy is.” He turned his head, observing Jason extinguish the cigarette against a street lamp and throw it in the nearest garbage can. “He met Kori on World of Warcraft. She kicked his butt, he fell in love. Now Lian terrorizes the school saying she has two daddies and two mommies.” Tim shook his head, pulling Jason to a nearby restaurant when he heard a soft whirl motion.

 

So soft that he dismissed it as some gust of wind picking up. “This is it Jason. The most authentic Japanese restaurant you’ll ever— _Konnichiwa_ —know.” Tim bowed down, removing his coat politely at the entrance.

 

“Please tell me we won’t eat that gross raw fish stuff.” A waiter gave him a stinky eye—she was carrying a tray with the so-called gross raw fish stuff, a myriad of shiny slices of fishes, coupled with vegetables that made Jason cringe. In the back of the mechanic’s mind, he apologized, the poor girl didn’t deserve that but raw fish was a no in his list.

 

“No. We’re eating shabu-shabu.”

 

Shabu-shabu turned out to be a pleasant experience to the mechanic (aside from the fact that the same waiter had to tie a rubber band to his chopsticks and that he burned half of his mouth with a traitor mushroom) where he finally got to tell all of _Roy’s_ shameful moments—including the time he cheered for the Star City Rockets in a bar full of Gotham Knights’ fans, and learn a bit more about his little heir.

 

* * *

 

 

 **Princess Kori** now

Congratulations! <3

slide to reply

**Your best friend** now

i guess u followed my advice ;)

slide to reply

**Timothy Drake** now

I’m so sorry Jason.

slide to reply

**Thomas Elliot** now

Hello Mr. Todd I’m having troubles…

slide to reply

**Private Number** now

This is Bruce Wayne I think…

slide to reply

 

From the amount of messages, Jason Todd could only conclude that something went really wrong or the Armageddon was coming sooner than he anticipated. Either way, it was too early to worry about the end of the world and its repercussion. He scratched his belly, reaching out for the first cigarette of the day and opening the blinds.

 

Jason was met with a commotion and a man, hanging precariously from a tree, snapping several pictures of him shirtless and looking like a ran-over skunk. He shut the blinds and sighed, grabbing his phone on the move for the kitchen and some much-needed coffee.

 

When he walked into the living room, barefooted and still groggy, Kori launched herself on him, clinging to his body like a newborn capuchin monkey—and screeching like one in between the kisses she planted on his cheek. Roy raised himself from the depths of the ancient couch, holding him from behind and rubbing his hair. “Okay, can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?”

 

“Show him the news, Kori.” She clambered down, reaching for their daily copy of Gotham Gazette—from page 20, Gossip Column, he stared at himself smiling dumbly at something that Tim said ( _I once broke my leg trying to do the feathered peacock pose with Dick._ ) and right next to the glossy black and white picture of them smiling, there was another one, from their trip to the coffee shop.

 

They were kissing.

 

Worse than that was the news itself.

 

**SUGAR DADDY TIMOTHY DRAKE-WAYNE AND HIS NEW BAD BOY**

By Vicki Vale

 

Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne (18), adopted son of billionaire Bruce Wayne, made the rounds yesterday around the town with his new arm-candy, Jason Peter Todd (24). The couple was spotted at The Brim looking like lovesick birds. Timothy Drake-Wayne already dated Stephanie Brown and was rumored to date Tamara Fox for a while. But who would have guessed that the quiet Drake-Wayne heir had a thing for boys? Jason Todd is known for having a criminal record and also for being one of the few victims to escape alive from the criminal known as The Joker. Todd recently became an overnight sensation over his talent for mechanics. Well, it seems like cars aren’t the only thing in this bad boy’s mind.

 

Several lines of more detailed (and sugar coated) reports of their date, mingled with facts of his life he never told anyone followed the horrible first paragraph. Jason could feel his fists shaking, he wanted to hit Vicki Vale for invading his privacy and for subtly mock his first date with Tim ( _The pair is one of the sweetest couple to ever graze Gotham since Richard Grayson-Wayne announced his engagement to Barbara Gordon, except this time we’re looking at the rainbow side of the Wayne family_ ). Every word seemed venomous, she went as far as putting a small picture of his younger self in the hospital ( _Jason Todd (15) after being beaten by The Joker_ ), covered in bandages and tubes.

 

He didn’t notice the cup of coffee being thrusted in his hands by an overprotective Kori, or Roy covering him with a blanket—he snapped out of it when Lian crawled to his lap, looking at the picture then at Jason. “I’VE GOT A NEW UNCLE!” She screamed, framing his face with chubby fingers and offering the sweet smile that only a child could provide.

 

Roy picked up his phone for him, moving out of the room while, miraculously, Lian was the one to handle the situation, babbling about how she got her Christmas gift earlier. “Hey Jaybird, Tim is asking if you can talk to him right now.” Jason grabbed the phone, leaving his best friend to coax Lian out of his lap ( _Come on pumpkin, you haven’t brushed your teeth yet_ ).

 

“Hey Jay…”

 

His voice was muffled, and Jason would bet anything that Tim was biting his nails—probably he was past that right now, he would be straight away peeling the skin off his fingers with his teeth. “Hey Timbo.”

 

“I’m so—“

 

“You’re not. Stop it.” He heard a whimper on the other side of the line. “She had no right to do that. I’m not ashamed of us. I’m not ashamed of my criminal record. I’m not ashamed of being beaten to death with a crowbar and surviving. Are you ashamed of anything she said?”

 

“I should have known better, Jason. I heard the sound of a camera but I didn’t th—“

 

“Timothy.”

 

“No.” Jason breathed a sigh of relief that he didn’t know he was holding until then—the Armageddon seemed to be stopped this time, he could feel the world turning again, spurning him to take a drag of the long forgotten cigarette, drink the coffee with eggnog. The sounds came back slowly, the commotion outside, Lian brushing her teeth, Kori walking in her room, Roy telling someone they were close for the holidays.

 

Tim biting his fingers in anticipation and guilt. “Bruce is already calling his lawyers.”

 

“Tell him not to do it on my behalf. If he does that, the press will get restless and things will be worse. Let’s just... Move on with our lives and ignore them.” He heard Tim nodding, the sound of his finger biting still reaching him from across the lines. “Unless you want to sue her for calling you sugar daddy, if anything you’re a sugar teen.”

 

Tim laughed—relief and a few tears attached themselves to the sound of the air leaving his lungs. “I’m not your sugar daddy, Jason.”

 

“I wouldn’t oppose to that, I’ve been trying to bribe Roy to take down that awful ad for weeks.”

 

“You are unbelievable, Jason.” More relief flooded Tim’s voice—that hideous thing wasn’t going to shake… Whatever they got going. “Listen, Bruce asked me if you guys want to spend Christmas with us… Nothing big, just a family dinner. Dick said that he bought Lian one of those animal rides…”

 

“Shit, I think I lost my spot as the favorite person in her life.”


	4. Who knew Rod Stewart had a Christmas album?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbara waited until Tim was out of their earshot before pointing to the kitchen. “Go talk with your boyfriend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's been following this story <3, I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving!

Kori was the one tasked with helping him with their late Christmas shopping, not only because of her good taste in gifts, but also because she knew how to handle the annoying photographers that kept snapping pictures of them. Undoubtedly they would figure on page 3, along with some gossip about how Kori was stealing Jason from the poor Timothy Drake.

 

“So we have so far a moleskine for the brat, three ugly shirts for Dick…”

 

“Mr. Todd any comments on your relationship with Mr. Drake-Wayne?” Jason stared at the microphone shoved in front of his face with a little bit of disgust, but he fixed his skewered glasses  (with a middle finger freshly coated in orange—Lian told him that now he had to look good for Timmy) and flashed a smile for the reporter and her cameramen.

 

“No?” He blinked owlishly at them, an embarrassing color rising to his cheeks. Jason fixed his glasses again, making sure to use his middle finger once more to perch the glasses on his nose. Kori waved at them enthusiastically, dragging the mechanic to another store.

 

Her first advice was _don’t let them get to you._ Silence might look offensive, anything else might give them the hook. A simple _No_ was his default answer from now on (coupled with his middle finger, he couldn’t let Lian’s effort go to waste). “You were awesome, Jay! So, continuing with our list… You got Alfred a model of that car he loves, Airborne by Greenfield for Cassandra, a fountain pen for Mr. Wayne and that leaves us with… Timmers.”

 

“I was thinking about wrapping myself in ribbons and scream ta-daa!”

 

“Are you doing the jazz hands?”

 

“I’m doing the jazz hands.” She shook her head, gathering the various bags around her arms and hugging Jason. “Okay that’s your way of saying that I’m actually a dork and that isn’t a good gift, but what can I give to him? He’s filthy rich and has everything he needs or wants.” They followed a throng of shoppers outside, mostly so Jason could light up a cigarette and flip the bird to a few paparazzi.

 

He took in a few drags, letting the silence hang between them and the curious whispers surround the pair. Most people wouldn’t look twice at him—some girls whispered that Tim was lucky for getting him, some old ladies disapproved his smoking habits and a most of the male crowd ignored him. “He likes coffee, right? Give him a mug that says something meaningful.”

 

Something meaningful turned out to be _The world’s best sugar daddy_ , printed in bold, pink and sparkly letters.

 

* * *

 

Christmas at the Wayne manor were less glamorous than anyone could think of. Of course they had a gigantic tree, decorated with handcrafted wooden ornaments, a huge fireplace that kept the enormous living room in an ethereal orange hue, Dick _tried_ to hang some mistletoes around (but after the fourth kiss on his cheek, Damian ran around the house branding a scimitar and removing every innocent mistletoe) and Mr. Wayne broke out his impressive collection of Rod Stewart CDs.

 

Some might think that the Waynes were the Gotham’s own Kardashian clan, but they are wrong—beneath all the money and rumors ( _Dick Grayson is a part of a secret organization that rules Gotham since the ancient times! Bruce Wayne killed Timothy Drake’s parents so he could have their money! Damian Al-Ghul Wayne is a terrorist planted by the Al-Qaeda to burn Gotham down!!! Cassandra Cain-Wayne is a killer for hire…_ ) they were just your regular embarrassing loving family. The thing that surprised Jason the most in the manor tour, given kindly by a smiling Alfred, was the astounding amount of pictures hanging on the walls and portraits standing on the wooden furniture. Some of them depicting the Wayne ancestors looking  somber and old, like the house’s guardians, but most of them were slices of their lives—a young Tim sitting on the knees of his mother, dressed up as an elf; Dick hanging from his father’s arms in a trapeze; Bruce Wayne, standing proudly beside Mr. and Mrs. Wayne; a baby Damian, sitting on Alfred’s lap, grubby hands reaching out for his tie; Cassandra sewing her ballerina shoes in the library; Stephanie Brown and Duke Thomas (who were spending the holidays in the Bahamas and called earlier to show how beautiful the place was) showing proudly their bruises from their first roller derby with Ms. Kate Kane and Harper Row (who were also enjoying the sunny Bahamas).

 

There was a distinct lack of professional and stoic pictures—the mansion was alive with the pictures of their smiles. And it felt even more alive in the living room where Tim, sitting on his lap and engrossed in a 2048 game that left him dizzy, felt too ashamed to translate it into words (and the feeling was mutual, now that Jason was watching Roy and Dick ruining _Have You Ever Seen The Rain_ ), at their right, Lian was trying to teach Cassandra her own choreography for the song—and Cassandra just went along, shaking her hips and hands with far more grace than anyone was ever allowed to have. Damian grumbled occasionally to his phone, invested in a game of Fruit Ninja underneath Bruce’s arm.

 

In front of them sat Barbara Gordon, a gorgeous woman who had the misfortune (she said it herself) of being engaged to Dick Grayson, with Alfred (the cat, not the butler) purring on her lap. “Timmy, have you thought of any of the Ivy League’s propositions?”

 

The boy sighed, not lifting his eyes from the current game, but shaken enough to lose a bit of his concentration. “Not again Babs, I told you I’m going to Gotham U. I have too many ongoing businesses in the WE.”

 

“Which you can deal while still attending somewhere better than Gotham U.” Tim groaned, swapping a tile to the wrong side.

 

“Babs, they want be because I’m a Wa—“

 

“Because you’re a genius, IQ 142, a young entrepreneur that closes deals overseas like it’s nothing…”

 

“Your fencing skills are impressive. You could go to the Olympics, if you wanted.” Bruce supplied, swirling the whiskey so subtly in his hands that the distinct sound of the ice clicking was a faint tingling, subdued by Roy, Dick _and_ Kori turning Christmas into karaoke night.  “Gotham U isn’t good enough for you.”

 

Tim lost his game. “Going to grab a soda, anyone wants anything?”

 

He could hear the collective sigh underneath Rod Stewart’s songs. Barbara waited until Tim was out of their earshot before pointing to the kitchen. “Go talk with your boyfriend.”

 

“He’s n… “

 

“Boyfriend, sugar daddy, significant other… Jason, he’s wasting the chance of a lifetime! He thinks they want him because he has money, but it’s not like that! Tim is a genius in every sense and he’ll just wither in Gotham!” Jason sighed, getting up and following the narrow path into the kitchen—the pristine white kitchen where Alfred moved around with the same grace Cassandra had when dancing upon knives (or doing anything, the mechanic suspects she’s the most graceful person even when pooping). Tim was perched over the counter, drinking a can of cold coffee and observing the butler give a piece of Brussel sprout to a massive dog that kept thumping his tail on the floor. He stopped in front of the heir, bracketing the boy on the counter.

 

“I could really go for a smoke, and I know Alfred will kill me if I do it here.” Alfred mumbled a veiled threat about how he didn’t want the sprinkles turning on and raining above his perfect gingerbread men ( _Master Dick will be completely devastated, and how an old man like me could contain such young and strong lad?_ ) before Tim shrugged, not looking him in the eye. He probably knew that Barbara wouldn’t let that subject drop so easily. “Hold on to me, pretty bird.” Jason wrapped his arms around the smaller man, lifting him from the counter as if he weighed less than a feather— which made Tim both, annoyed and a little bit hard in his jeans, and moved them from the cozy kitchen to a chilly small veranda outside.

 

“Look Jay, if you’re here…” Jason didn’t let him finish, pressing their lips together as he settled Tim on top of a snow-free table, and Tim could only be thankful for that—truth to be told, he missed kissing Jason slowly, tasting the eggnog still in his breath as if nothing mattered but Jason’s tongue leisurely rubbing against his. “Better take me upstairs if you want to keep doing that.” Tim licked his lips, allowing his cold hands to run through the black locks of Jason’s hair. The mechanic smiled, diving in for another deep kiss before taking a step back, reaching inside his jeans for a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

 

Jason shouldn’t look so good doing something so bad. “Okay pretty bird, let’s talk about your college options. I won’t judge you, just tell me why you aren’t considering those institutions.”

 

Tim sighed and, rather than looking at Jason looking stupidly sexy while smoking, he preferred to toy with the hem of his shirt, letting his fingers hit the buckle on his jeans once in a while. He thought for a while, biting his lips and formulating the words inside his head—he had the discourse ready when the letters kept piling and Bruce kept looking at him with a mix of a plea and fatherly concern. “It may sound stupid but… There will be cliques. Where do I fit in? In a fraternity with the jocks that might invest a million on WE in the future? Inside the dorms with the geniuses who could possibly wreck us or be the salvation to our enterprises? If I cross someone, I’m sure they’ll hold it against me for the rest of their lives… It’s not an easy decision, plus I’ll be away from WE, that will leave the doors open for Damian to try and usurp me of my position, he’s not shy about that.” He took a deep breath, focusing on the nasty smell of cigarette mingling with the scent from Alfred’s signature turkey. “Gotham U is a good university, I can do well there, come home and still hold my position. It’s silly, I know… But for me, it’s not as easy as Barbara puts it.”

 

“Nothing is easy, baby bird.” Jason smiled, tracing his knuckles along the sharp angles of Tim’s face, this close the Wayne heir could still smell oil and rust marking Jason’s digits. “And it’s okay to be afraid, you don’t know who you are, you are just figuring out that part… Staying in Gotham might be a good option, you can deal with the offspring of your regular clientele, and you are well known and loved here. It’s a safe option, in here you can be the Wayne heir forever.” He flicked the cigarette, letting the ashes fall to the floor as his fingers held Tim’s face, forcing him to look into his eyes. “But if you put yourself out there… Think of the possibilities, you’ll be surrounded by the best of the best and I know you have a good eye to spot a future talent. You’ll rip them before anyone knows—just put a good word in their names to your dad and guess what? They leave college working on an enterprise that’s famous for the cutting edge technology, you get loyal employees to fight Damian’s advances—everyone wins.” Jason pecked his lips, his smile big and yellowed as if he was looking at one of the world’s wonders. “You’ll leave _your_ mark out there, while in Gotham you’ll leave the _Wayne_ mark. You’ll be able to spot who will be good for business and who will be bad, plus you’ll show them that you’re not just a spoiled rich kid from Gotham.”

 

Tim shuddered, not from the cold but from the adoration that decorated Jason’s features while he spoke—and Jason spoke of him as if he was a gold mine, or something precious that everyone should look in awe and worship. Jason took a drag, letting the words sink into his mind before picking up again. “You’ll have to deal with Damian taking over, with you here or out there… Think about it. One day Damian will be your age, he’ll have to make the same choice, and I’m betting my ass that he’ll chose the most prestigious college he can, you know why?” The heir shook his head, tightening his fingers on Jason’s shirt. “Because if you chose to stay here, he’ll go to Harvard or something, and, now, think of yourself as one of WE investors, who would you trust blindly: a guy who has a degree from Gotham U or a Harvard graduate? I would chose the Harvard guy, and most people will also do that. Damian will slowly undermine you because you were too afraid of taking a step further. Ask Roy how many times he was turned down despite being a genius, just because he chose not to go to MIT… Even if it was for a different reason. It’s not an easy choice Tim, for whatever choice you’ll make there will be a repercussion, and you have to deal with that.” Jason kissed his forehead, taking another drag from his crooked cigarette. “Whatever is your choice, I’ll support you, but don’t let the fear get the best of you, okay?”

 

He nodded, burying his face against Jason’s grey shirt while the mechanic’s fingers carded through his hair. No one had ever dissected his choices so meticulously for him—Barbara and Bruce both had the best intentions when pressuring him into a choice, but failed to see how they would influence his life. Bruce couldn’t see his point and Barbara was so hell-bent on what was best for him that missed the veiled issues of Damian replacing him. Dick said something once or twice, but let him be, knowing that the choice was exclusively his. Tim licked his dry lips, nuzzling his face against Jason’s stomach. “Thank you Jay, I’ll think about it.”

 

Jason had abandoned his cigarette in a crystal ashtray Alfred reserved for him and framed Tim’s face in his calloused hands. “Did I do good in my first boyfriend task?” Tim blushed—not even once they used the _B_ word, not even _Vicki Vale_ called them like that. “Oh shit, sorry, Barbara called me your boyfriend.” Now, _Jason_ was blushing (and it was rather endearing how this manly, strong and smart mechanic was tripping over his words on behalf of that little title).

 

“You did _great_ , although Vicki Vale would say that this was your first _sugar baby_ task.”

 

* * *

 

Dinner was simply superb. Not even in his wildest dreams Jason could imagine how good Alfred’s holiday cooking was—everything had a subtle twist of flavor, from the turkey to the potato salad ( _with thin sliced poblano peppers that even_ Lian _loved_ ). No one touched the subject of Tim’s college choices again, but judging about how he came back half an hour later, draped around Jason and nursing a can of _frozen_ cold coffee with a huge smile on his face, they knew he had made his choice.

 

“So…” Roy smiled with his mouth full of honey-roasted pork loin and a piece of lettuce stuck in his teeth. “What are we doing after dinner?” Damian looked at him with an exasperated expression, rubbing his mushrooms and potatoes against the Madeira sauce in his plate. It didn’t help that from across the table Dick looked as stupid as his best friend, with a face full of stuffing (Jason discovered that day that both men couldn’t eat without making a mess and it was making Alfred slowly lose his mind).

 

“Sleeping, isn’t that obvious?” The bratty prince chided, elbowing Roy so he could clean his face (Kori did it for him, then cleaned a happy Lian that rambled a bit about how they should sleep so Santa could leave their gifts).

 

“No.” Roy continued with a smile that meant that nothing good would come out of his mouth in the next twenty seconds breaking his face (Jason knew that smile for years—it was the same smile he used to convince Jason to go to a karaoke night while dressed as his favorite RuPaul’s drag race queen for Halloween last year). “In our house we have the tradition of playing monopoly on Christmas’ eve.”

 

Damian clucked his tongue, looking completely disinterested in Roy’s suggestion. “Foolish.”

 

The grin on Roy’s face only grew and now he looked like the Cheshire cat himself. “Afraid of losing, little prince?”

 

* * *

  

It was the most brutal game of monopoly on the existence.

 

They had decided to split in pairs— Roy, Lian and Kori being the only trio because neither Cassandra nor Alfred felt like playing. Cassandra, the little devil, spoke for the first time, in a quiet and sweet voice and suggested to spice up the game ( _You…_ She sounded like a little child, gesturing in ASL before translating it into words _. Should have hidden goals_.). She wrote which place each team should conquer with a gorgeous handwriting—and they had to do it subtly.  

 

Roy, Kori and Lian were the first to leave, losing all their money to Dick and Babs because Lian _needed_ Manhattan ( _They have the Madagascar zoo!_ She laughed and clapped her tiny hands, talking about what she would do if she could just hug Alex the lion while Roy handed the money under Damian’s gleeful gaze). “You wreck them Jaybird.” The red haired mechanic grinned, getting comfortable with Cassandra behind Bruce and Damian.

 

The second team to go was Dick and Babs ( _Team awesome!_ He had screamed over the dinner table, announcing loudly that no one could be smarter than Barbara, not even his father or baby brothers), after landing on Star City (dominated by Tim and Jason). Barbara accepted their defeat gracefully, with a knowing wink towards Jason. “I know what you’re doing, you asshole. Next time I’ll be more careful around you.”

 

Jason just blew a kiss for her, holding Tim closer to him and perching his chin over the Wayne heir’s shoulder. “What are you doing, Jay?”

 

“Winning.”

 

It took them less than two hours to take every bill from Damian and Bruce’s hands. “You were cheating.” Damian eyed the board carefully, sighing while Jason counted his bills with an easy smile on his face. “How could you know Gotham was our objective?”

 

Tim, who was kissing Jason’s cheek sweetly, just smiled, getting more comfortable against the solid mass of muscles behind him. “Well, firstly I thought about looking at Cass, since her body language tells us a lot… But… It was you who gave the game away, Damian. Every time we landed near Gotham you gave a subtle twitch.” The boy clucked his tongue, crossing his arms and still not believing in his loss.

 

“It helped that Jason cheated.” Barbara said with a smile, rearranging Lian in her lap (she had fallen asleep shortly after her team’s loss, saying that Santa didn’t like girls who didn’t go to be early). Damian and even Bruce raised a skeptic eyebrow at Jason, who just shrugged. On the background, Kori and Roy weren’t able to hold their snickers. “I didn’t realize until I was out of the game that Jason is _really good_ handling money. He can count the bills really fast and he has an unpredictable pattern to steal, plus he knows how to roll the dices to get exactly the number he needs.”

 

Kori snorted. “I guess we left out that our version of monopoly is the one where no one plays fair.” Bruce didn’t seem happy about it, and even more unhappy when Damian asked Jason to teach him how to do that. Dick laughed out loud, throwing his arms over the smug pair that was still counting their money.

 

“I can only wonder how mean you guys can be when playing Uno.”

 

* * *

 

Tim fell asleep pressed against Jason’s back, surprisingly the older man had no qualms about being the little spoon—he just flopped down on a heavenly bed, surrounded by fluffy pillows and a tiny heir that kicked a little bit in his sleep. Waking up to a bed full of Jason Todd filled him with a happiness he thought he had forgotten—the man was sprawled over his side, grumbling on his sleep about something, and his own hands were placed firmly over the mechanic’s hard abs, absentmindedly tracing the scars decorating the skin.

 

_Adorable_. From his messy hair and white lock to his droll-crusted mouth. There was nothing he saw that he didn’t like. Jason was a dream come true, and he couldn’t be happier when nuzzled his back. The mechanic stirred in his sleep, giving the first signs of consciousness with a low yawn. “Y’know…” His voice was low, rusty with sleep and that sent shivers down the heir’s spine. “First time we met you did the same.”

 

“What?” He was now alarmed, his eyes wide open as Jason rolled in his bed and stretched a bit, one hand rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and then trying to remove the crusty droll from his dry lips. “Jason!”

 

“You sleep walked into the shop and said things like _baby I miss you so much_ and so on. I guess you thought I was somebody else?” Tim grumbled, hiding his face against Jason’s broad chest—he tends to do embarrassing things when he’s sleep deprived, once he let Steph use him as his make-up model and pranced around the manor on her nightgown, there was also the time where he wrote a careful letter to Damian (most of it consisted of nonsense and three lines of ‘AAFUCKYOUAAA’) and finally, the time where he sat down on Dick’s bed, pointing at the wall and said _Shh, he’s here_ (Dick screamed until Bruce came down and told him that it was just Tim sleep-talking). “Don’t worry, I thought it was cute. Pitiful but cute.”

 

Tim blushed even more, if it was possible, mumbling apologies into Jason’s fleece shirt. “Probably I was dreaming about Conner.”

 

“Conner? As in _Lex Luthor caught me giving Conner a blowjob under the table of last year’s New Year’s gala_?” The boy nodded, making himself a little more comfortable by draping his leg over Jason’s. “Lucky guy. I guess I’ll try my luck this year.” Tim’s laughter bubbled from his lips, spilling against Jason’s neck while his hands roamed the fleece of the mechanic’s shirt, mapping the topography of scars underneath the fabric. With the heavy comforter as their ally, Tim could subtly let his thumb dig under the fleece, tracing the fine trail of hairs from his belly towards the hem of his pants.

 

“Well, what if your luck comes earlier?” Tim risks, his thumb rubbing in circular motions over the skin as the rest of his digits play with the drawstrings—Jason just hums, folding a hand behind his head and letting his pointer move up and down on the heir’s back. He looks deep in thought as his lips search for Tim’s skin, peppering it with kisses until he reaches his boyfriend’s ( _??????)_ mouth and captures it in a leisurely kiss that holds a hint of affection and _something_ else, provided by the digit that applied a small pressure against his vertebrae and how hard his breath is.

 

Jason’s kisses are always unhurried, but this time there’s an underlining of hunger attached to each swipe of his tongue—Jason isn’t simply kissing him, he’s _devouring_ Tim, sucking on his tongue, plunging his mouth, stopping to peck his lips and diving back in. And that makes him to unconsciously palm the bulge in Jason’s pants, forcing the man to moan in delight against his open mouth. The single finger turns into a full palm, making its way inside his shirt and pressing the many callouses against his soft skin, this time Tim moans, rutting against a strong thigh and biting Jason’s lips.

 

He doesn’t wait for any confirmation from the older man before squeezing the shaft in his hand, basking in Jason’s moans—he feels thick and hot on his hand, perfect for him. They part for air and Jason looks absolutely gorgeous—pupils blown wide, making the gunmetal blue a meager highlight shielded behind hooded eyes, breaths coming short and broken by tiny moans—Tim has to bite his reddened lips before whispering. “Be quiet.”

 

He doesn’t miss the way that Jason’s lashes flutters and his Adam’s apple bobs when swallowing down a moan while watching  Tim disappear beneath the covers, tracing the hard lines of his body with his lips—worshipping the gorgeous man beneath him with his hands and mouth and stopping before he finally reaches the bulge in Jason’s pants. Tim has to swallow down, pushing away the last of his shame and curling his fingers over the elastic band of his pants and boxers and dragging them down—he wanted to cherish the moment where Jason’s cock sprung free, already red and leaking. Tim feels both, proud and flattered, _he did it_ , _Jason is hard_ because _of him_ , that train of thought makes him lick his dick, slowly tracing his way from the thick pulsing vein, which has to stop and suck, to the head while one hand grips a strong thigh. He hears Jason abort a moan and feels his fingers wrapping themselves around the hairs in his scalp, encouraging him to keep on moving.

 

He needs to savor that moment, get acquainted with the mute sounds of pleasure and the goosebumps that raise the flesh on a thick thigh. Tim leaves his hand holding Jason’s cock, feeling his pulse against his digits and stops to pay attention to the muscle of his femur, sucking a red mark over a scar that disappears underneath his pants before he kisses his way back up to his groin. He moves his lips and tongue gently over his balls and the base of his cock, lavishing it with attention. There’s a sharp intake of breath and the threat of another mute moan, cut short by the heir wrapping his lips around the head of Jason’s cock and sucking it deliberately.

 

Jason tastes heavenly in his mouth, bitter and hot against the tip of his tongue. Wrapping his fingers around the shaft, Tim pulls the foreskin back and presses the tip of his tongue over the slit, tasting more precome and making Jason curl his fingers on the dark locks of his hair. That makes the heir give a small moan, moving his tongue to roam the glans—he wants to know what makes Jason moan, how to take him apart with his mouth. Tim pulls away for a bit, kissing the tip and breathing in the heavy musky smell that surrounds him—as much as he wants to take the mechanic apart, Jason is the one doing that, reducing his world to his smell (he smells heavily of sex, motor oil, gasoline and the old lemony cologne that clings to his body like a second skin), the sight of his hard cock, drooling precome against his lips every time  he pulls out for air and the sound of his raspy breathing.

 

Tim swallows him again, alternating between soft sucks and kittenish licks and making Jason’s breath even shorter—his hand moves from the thigh to cradle his balls, thumbing them gently. The fingers on his hair tighten a bit, but Jason isn’t forcing him down, he’s directing his head to where he wants his mouth—in his mind’s eye he imagines the way Jason looks with his eyes closed in pleasure, probably biting his lips to contain the moans that threated no spill at every swipe of his tongue and a pretty flush of red coating his broad chest.

 

He’s mid suck when the door slams open and he freezes on his motions. Whoever threw open the door (judging by the silent quality of the footsteps and the force which the door wiped the air, he’s guessing is Damian) stays silent for a bit before clearing his throat. “Drake. Todd.” Definitely Damian. “Father says we need you two downstairs so we can open the gifts. Brush your teeth, for the love of God.”

 

The door slams closed whilst Tim drops Jason’s (still rock hard) cock and laughs embarrassedly against the hickey he placed on his thigh. “Fuck, I think my blowjobs are cursed.” It’s the only thing that leaves his mouth—Jason is laughing above him and he thinks he can’t go on, not with the shame of being caught consuming him and the fact that probably everyone downstairs will know shortly what they were doing.

 

“Come here.” Jason’s voice is still laced with the unmistakable inflection of rough that immediately gives away that he was having sex—gruff and smooth like honey. He just follows the order, emerging red-faced from the covers and latching their lips together in one of their more typical sweet kisses. “Cursed or not, I gotta give it to you: you are _really_ good at giving head.” Jason whispers and he buries his head in shame on the crook of his neck. “But pretty bird, we can’t go downstairs like this. Time to get up, brush your teeth and think unsexy thoughts.”

 

“Kind of hard when all I can think is how good you’d feel…” The mechanic shushes him with a finger and a groan—if someone told him that the boy sleeping behind the wheel, enjoying the airbag as if it was the fluffiest pillow in the existence would be his downfall, Jason would have laughed and shrugged it off. But now, hard and with an equally hard Tim pressed against him he couldn’t think of anything else but those pretty lips wrapped around his cock.

 

“Roy’s ass crack.”

 

“What?”

 

“Damian wearing a shark costume.”

 

“Jason?”

 

“Unsexy thoughts, Timmy, I’m trying to think unsexy thoughts.”

 

The heir pursed his lips, racking his brain for anything that wasn’t Jason—granted it was difficult with the way he still smelled like sex and oil.

 

* * *

 

Christmas morning at the Wayne manor was as ridiculous as the eve was. Lian was already mounted on her animal ride, screaming in delight —Dick had chosen an elephant, in honor of his pet elephant Elinore. He and Roy observed the scene, sharing a sandwich made of last night’s turkey and wearing matching hideous sweaters with Jesus wearing a party hat and holding a balloon—the older Wayne heir was talking a mile per hour about his beloved Elinore while Roy eyed the animal ride curiously, probably calculating how many modifications he had do to turn the harmless ride into a death machine. Kori and Barbara were tucked in different corners, talking to their families in hushed tones while Cassandra was chasing Alfred (the cat) around the living room, trying to give him his new collar.  Bruce Wayne was still in his embarrassing dad mode, dressed sharply in his robes and singing along to Rod Stewart (who knew the man had a Christmas album?) and Alfred had pushed all the heavy curtains aside, leaving one window open so Jason could smoke by the window seat.

 

Damian blushed when Tim got comfortable in his lap, holding his iPad and nursing a hot mug of coffee printed with the words _The world’s best sugar daddy_ like nothing had happened. “So…” Tim says, flipping through emails containing Jason’s interview and some pictures of him and Kori walking around the mall. “What gala will we attend this new year? Luthor invited us… Queen too, surprisingly.”

 

Jason could feel Roy stiffening from the opposite end of the room, Bruce seemed to notice that too—he probably _knew_ who  Roy Harper was, there was no way of him not knowing that he is Queen’s former protégé, and shakes his head in a negative, taking a seat beside a grumbling Damian. “I think we should do something for ourselves this year.”

 

“Cool,” Roy chirps immediately, stealing the rest of Dick’s turkey sandwich (not without some struggle and threats that he’ll revoke his best friend’s privileges—including the carton of Cherry Garcia in the fridge) and gesturing wildly like he always does when he’s really excited. “We can repay the favor and invite you to our New Year’s extravaganza and annual tournament of strip-poker, minors are not allowed though.”

 

“I’m okay with it, as long as we don’t end up our night with _someone_ fellating people under the table, right Timmy?” Dick raised his eyebrows—and Roy snorted (probably Dick already told him the tale of that terrible night).

 

Damian groaned, charcoal covered fingers slapping his moleskine close. “ _TT,_ Drake started this year’s work earlier, don’t worry.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always lurking @beta-lactamase.tumblr.com


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